Longing to Fly
by Jobey
Summary: Lola Donnelly Nond has the talk with her young son she's been dreading. Tribute to mothers in time for Mother's Day. **COMPLETE**


**Disclaimer: The following is not purely original fiction, but rather characters, settings, and situations as created by J.K. Rowling. I'm playing in her toybox because I get writer's block on my own work. I will return all characters in fairly decent condition. _No money is being made of this piece of fanfiction and can not be reproduced for any purposes but strictly private entertainment.   
  
_**"And after it rains there's a rainbow  
Where all of the colours are black  
It's not that the colours aren't there  
It's just imagination they lack  
And everything's the same back  
In my little town..."  
-- "My Little Town", Simon and Garfunkel  
  
**Dedicated to mothers everywhere in honour of Mother's Day.  
  
  
  
Longing to Fly**  


  
He first appeared at their playground on an overcast, drizzly day, and he was the only one who didn't mind as the weather turned to a light rain shower.  
  
The Ashcroft children guessed he must be five or so, but no one cared to ask him so as to confirm this. Whenever they spoke to him, he startled, blue-grey eyes going wide, clenching his small fists about whatever was nearest for support. He would give them a nearly inaudible mumble in reply to their greetings, and thus sealed his Ashcroft fate.  
  
They took to taunting him after the initial few days, and it lasted a week or so. He was an easy target - small and shy and odd and alone.  
  
But then it abruptly ended, for three reasons: One, whoever happened to trip or sneer at him met surprising results. In one incident, Celia Combe shouted something about the little twerp's old, ill-fitting clothes and vivid scars -  
  
Next moment, the helter-skelter sped up for no reason at all, and Celia was flown off, face down into the ground.  
  
Slowly, everyone turned to the little twerp, whose light brown head was bent down, drawing figures in the dirt with a stick. He hadn't been watching, and although he looked guilty, he hadn't been near the helter-skelter. A warily respectful silence ensured.  
  
Secondly, teasing him really wasn't much fun. Occasionally the others caught him bushing, but all in all he kept quiet, ignoring the actions of those around him. As much as they tried, they failed to upset him.  
  
Thirdly, Frank Longbottom told them to quit it.  
  
Frank wasn't quite sure why, apart from it just felt wrong to let the ridicule go on. And although he knew no more of the boy than anyone else, he left an instinct to protect him.  
  
"Cut it, everyone," he ordered sharply. "He doesn't bother us, only plays with his leaves and sand or swings. Just leave him alone."  
  
Whether because of fear, boredom, or Frank, they began to let him in peace - in fact, they even reserved the wing by the east oak tree for him and then quit talking to him altogether. His quiet "thank you" when anyone saw him and bolted off that particular swing went unheeded; if he protested softly they could stay on, they pretended not to hear. Celia Combe was still on their minds.   
  
She was on Frank's, which led him to draw a conclusion. So one day as the boy approached, Frank casually walked by the swing at the precisely opportune moment. "Hallo," he said, as if he hadn't realised he wasn't alone, and smiled.  
  
The boy had already snatched the pole of the swing, and so found the daring to glance upward at Frank. "Hello."  
  
"Swinging again today?"  
  
"Yes" - shyly.  
  
"Well, d'you need any help getting on? I can't figure for the life of me how you manage - this ting is nearly higher above the ground than you are, little buddy."  
  
"No, thank you." To Frank's amazement, he proved it by deftly jumping, clasping a hand around the chain, and clambouring up.  
  
Frank, wide-eyed, whistled. "I couldn't get up there until I was about two years older than - just how old are you?"  
  
"Six… almost seven," he tacked on firmly.  
  
Frank nearly whistled again, this time in amusement, but decided the pride of a six-almost-seven-year-old was too easily injured. (Of course, Frank being fourteen-almost-fifteen, his moods swings were _quite_ stable, thank you _very _much…) Instead he continued: "So what is your name?"  
  
"Remus." He had hesitated before answering, but now seemed to decide all the questions should not be so one-sided. "What's yours?"  
  
"Frank… D'you need a couple of pushes?" Remus's feet barely brushed the mulch.  
  
Remus considered the offer. "All right, please, if you don't mind."  
  
"Why d'you think I asked? Hold on, now." Frank proceeded to give him several firm shoves, but then asked discreetly, "So, Remus, you don't happen to come from a wizarding family, d'you?"  
  
Remus was so caught off guard that he glanced over his shoulder and met Frank's eye a second time.  
  
"It's okay," Frank assured him. "I am, too, you know." Since Remus had not quite confirmed or denied this, he pressed on: "I figured so, when you were able to outrun Nat Stallone and when you sent Celia Combe off the 'skelter."  
  
Although Frank couldn't see his face clearly, he was quite sure the Remus had reddened. "Yes, but - I didn't mean to, honest I didn't…"  
  
Frank laughed, victorious and curiosity satisfied. "I thought so! Don't worry about it. You couldn't've helped it - I wish I had been able to make her fall like that. The worst I ever did in regards to her was make her hair get all frizzly. So don't your parents want you to play with anyone here? You avoid us like a plague. They're not afraid you'll give our world away, are they? Trust me, they never do, and once I even left my stack of Chocolate Frog cards here overnight - Nutty and Brutus found them and still thought they were 'novelty decks' or some such jaw."  
  
Confusion was evident on the younger boy's face. "N-No…"  
  
"Sorry." Frank grinned. "My mum always tells me I talk too much and too fast. Did you just move here a while ago?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Where d'you live?"  
  
"Over by the farther end of Milina End."  
  
"That house with the tan roof? Where old Judy Figg used to live?"  
  
"I think so." Remus looked hesitant and uncomfortable. Frank got the distinct impression he wasn't supposed to tell anyone this.   
  
"Oh, okay, so your mum's the lady who helps out Mrs. Newman on Grant Crescent?"  
  
Remus nodded.  
  
"Big place. Probably a lot of brothers and sisters?"  
  
"No." Remus's voice was getting quieter. "No…"  
  
Okay, Frank decided. He was sticking his nose where it didn't belong, and anyway, Brutus Gambler had shown up and was waving for him. "Think you're set now? I'll see you later, Remus."  
  
"'Bye. Thanks." Remus was now as far as where, from his eye level, he was higher than Mt. Gresham in the distance.   
  
*  
  
Remus was glad to be alone. Frank - especially his questions - had made him nervous, although no doubt he was thankful for the pushes. It took him almost a full half-hour usually to pump to the point where he was actually covering enough distance to get any sort of thrill as he swooped down, and by that time his small legs would be tired and begging to stop.  
  
He rarely heeded them; it had taken a lot of effort to get to the best point of the ride, and by no means did he intend to miss it. Sometimes he got so far up that there was a soaring sensation in his stomach that reminded him (but was not nearly as good as) of whenever Ritchie had taken him on his broomstick. And then, when he'd come down from the back, he felt almost as if he were flying.  
  
The one thorn in his side was that he wasn't quite sure he was supposed to be here. Yes, his mother had never quite said he was not to leave the house, but she had never given him leave to go outside, either.   
  
Back in Canan Millbury, she wouldn't have cared… Mummy would have never left the house often anyway… but everything had changed so much since they had been forced from Canan Millbury.   
  
His eyes screwed shut as he remembered. He hadn't thought of Canan Millbury for very long in a good while. This is what happens when you are so young you live day-by-day, and Christmas always seems a long way off. Canan Millbury - otherwise referred to in his thoughts as "home", when "home" wasn't used to describe his current living quarters - was getting vaguer in his memory, but he still remembered a state of almost constant shalom-like existence…  
  
Mummy had never used to look worried and anxious then, not unless Father was around, which was rare, because Father was almost always at work, and everyone liked it that way. She had always been around whenever she was needed, and was able to cook her very best holiday cake without saying regretfully: "I can't afford all those eggs, let alone the spices…"  
  
"But Mummy," Remus had spoken up once, "you just grow those, don't you?"  
  
She had smiled sadly. "You don't see a garden, do you, dear?" She had gestured out their high window the ashy street below. Remus couldn't find anything green and sat thinking a while.  
  
"Can't we have one outside of Canan Millbury?" he asked, quite softly.  
  
"No, no!" Mummy laughed very quickly. "Of course we can, Remus, lad - we just can't have one quite here. Too in the city. Perhaps at some point we'll grow another." She was always a bit too swift to assure him that none of the unpleasant things of their new life had anything to do with their eviction from their home village.  
  
Ritchie had lived with them, too… some of the time, when he wasn't at school… and they had never been as isolated as Remus felt now. Even if Ritchie had not been the kind who didn't mind their younger brother always being around - in fact, he'd hunt Remus down half the time - Canan Millbury was full of all the others there.   
  
Now, Remus tried to remember their names. They had escaped his memory. There was… Donnal… Bethy… or were those the right names? Either way, he couldn't recall any more. Their faces were now blurred in his mind's eye.   
  
They had never been bored, he knew that, and Mummy had never been so insistent on him studying before. He knew everyone else in the village by sight, instead of the thousands of strangers he had encountered during the year they had left. And he had never had to worry about the times he'd be locked in whatever old deserted place they could find for a night, alone with an almost unbearable nightmare… Remus shuddered when he thought of it.   
  
But the next one was still two weeks off, a long while (especially for someone six-almost-seven), and he had other things to think about. Such as what exactly Chocolate Frog cards were.   
  
The wind, which had made the air cool, began to slow. Remus grew far less chilly, the feeling in his limbs returned, and he now swung with renewed determination. He had just been thinking of quitting and slipping back to the house with a tan roof on the farther part of Milina End Judy Figg had once lived in, but now he wanted nothing more than to keep his current activity, forever -  
  
The whirl of colours and sights and sounds past him was incredible. Back - forth - back - forth - everything danced around in and out and left and right. The only thing close to it was the one time he had gotten a ride on the helter-skelter, but since he was rarely welcomed on when someone was spinning it (and he had not managed to run it 'round and jump on without getting a mouthful of dirt just yet) but this was next best thing he could find - higher - just a little higher, and maybe he'd be far up enough to leave the entire world behind…  
  
He was on the point of exhaustion now, but his longing and adrenaline were skyrocketing. He pulled and pushed himself farther - Morgana, he was getting there! Remus was figuring on about a few more inches, and he could snatch at that cloud… he ignored the jerking and speaking of the chains, just a bit more - back - and now back down -  
  
_SNAP!  
_  
Something broke. Remus was swung rightward, momentum plummeting him to past the brown circle surrounding the swings - there was screaming from some of the Ashcroft children. Really, he thought as he sailed, the words passing through his head in a millisecond, Canan Millbury children weren't half so easily frightened.  
  
Despite their shrieks, he was loving it. He was flying now, suspended in air - perhaps his magic helping along? - shooting forward, free from the Earth -   
  
The very next second, he was thrown into the ground, rejected by the air quite abruptly, a thudding shock being sent through his body, dirt in his eyes.  
  
Celia laughed, but no one else did. In fact, several had rushed over to him, with exclamations on his flight and questions -   
  
"Are you okay, kid?"  
  
Remus blinked and pushed himself up, definitely not used to this sort of attention. "Y-Yes, I'm fine."  
  
"Your leg is bleeding," Melinda Cook, the only one he knew by full name, pointed out, pointing to where his now-bloodstained trousers had been torn. Remus looked down at it, but it didn't really hurt, not much at all… after his transformations it was a load worse. What did come to him was that Mummy was going to see that hole. He tried to tug it together, but it was still ripped open.  
  
"And there's a brush burn all over your face," Frank added.  
  
Remus hadn't noticed it until it was mentioned, but now it suddenly stung, and he winced. This did hurt.   
  
"Doesn't matter," Celia said spitefully. "I could play connect-the-dots with his face already."   
  
"Oh, shut it, Celia!" Melinda retorted. "Here, need a hand up?" She held her own out; Remus accepted.   
  
"Thank you."  
  
"So you're okay?" Melinda persisted. Most of the crowd had disappeared, seeing as how Remus was in one piece, had dispersed. Only Melinda and Celia were left.   
  
"I'm fine." Actually, he felt rather depressed. His beautiful flight from Earth was over - and it had been exhilarating while it lasted.   
  
Mummy had a saying - "Don't cry because it's over; smile because it happened". He tried to follow this advice now, and managed a small smile. Perhaps it would have been larger if he weren't scared of what Mummy was going to say when she saw that tear in his knee.  
  
Melinda took out a tissue and helped him clean most of the blood before running off with an encouraging smile. He decided that Melinda was nice enough. Like the people in Canan Millbury… sort of…  
  
He found that, despite Melinda's warnings as she treated it, the pain in his knee was minimal when he walked. Still, it was enough to slow him down a bit, and he also stopped to watch a game of catch between Brutus and Nat before he left, which is probably why he was still crossing the vast park to the roundabout on the other end when Lola Nond's call was heard - "_Re_-mus!"  
  
_Uh-oh_. Remus turned to see Mummy a little bit away, still with the bag she carried to Mrs. Newman's on her shoulder. Frank was with her, looking a little hesitant. Quickly, he ran over to her.   
  
"Remus - Remus, look up at me, please."   
  
He did so, having a funny feeling that, indeed, he had not been supposed to leave the house. Mummy's eyes, now stern, traveled to his sweaty, brush burned face to the bloody knee.  
  
"Is that all right?" she indicated his wounds with her head.  
  
Remus nodded.  
  
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Nond," Frank spoke up sheepishly, "I wasn't sure how serious it was, but he sure took a ride…"  
  
"That's quite all right." Mummy's face relaxed considerably when she turned to Frank. "Thanks very much, Frank. I'm glad to have been informed of this."  
  
Frank nodded. "You're welcome. G'bye for now, then, if you don't need anything else…"  
  
They didn't, although Remus couldn't help but shoot Frank a dark look as he went over to Nat and Brutus. To his dying day, Frank probably never knew why… figured the boy was probably upset that he had been thought such a baby someone had to run for his mother.   
  
Mummy now focused on him again. "Come along. I told Mrs. Newman I would be gone for the day." She shook her head as Remus opened his mouth to speak. "When he get home. I need to think."  
  
It was a long walk home, Mummy's silence unnerving and awful.   
  
*  
Mummy still did not speak and Remus dared not while she cleaned the cut, examined the damage to his trousers, and ordered him into another pair. It was not until she pulled out a needle and thread, and he had hesitantly stepped out to the porch, that she did say a word, and that was: "If you fetch a few pieces of ice and place them on your cheek it'll help that brush burn. Come straight back out here, please."  
  
Remus quickly obeyed, even though the sharp coldness made the brush burn feel worse and he felt dreadful facing Mummy again. There was another quiet pause before she asked: "Explain why you were at the playground."  
  
Licking his upper lip, he began, "I - I was on the swings. You never said I couldn't leave the house while you were gone…"  
  
Mummy looked up from her first few stitches. "Remus. Tell me, please - did you not faintly suspect that license to play on the yard did not mean permission to roam the entire town?"  
  
Remus did not reply, but he realised that he had indeed knew, deep down, that's what she had probably meant. (Actually, she couldn't understand everything she had just said, but he got the impression very clearly.) Still, like most six-almost-seven boys who are in trouble, he natural instinct was to defend himself. "You never minded when I did it before, in the village."  
  
There was a profound silence now. Mummy sewed intently, frowning.   
  
"This isn't Canan Millbury, Remus, lad."   
  
He felt a little more hopeful. Mummy's tone was a little softer, and she never called him "Remus lad" when he was in the state of deeply fallen grace. "I'm sorry, Mummy. I guess I sort of knew I shouldn't, but…" He trailed off, not wanting to sound as if he was making excuses, and found the trees behind the house fascinating all the sudden.  
  
" 'But'?" Mummy prompted.  
  
He delivered the candid truth: "It's so dull over here all day."   
  
Mummy pulled the needle in and out mechanically for a few moments. "Well… luckily you'll have all those dull moments the next few days to remember this. You're not to leave the house until Saturday evening."  
  
As Canan Millburians were not in the habit of giving any punishments worth speaking of, and as it was Tuesday, into the bargain, this decree was one of the harshest Remus had ever received. He nodded, with the miserable feeling on gets when they realised they've done something very wrong and will probably never be looked at the same again.  
  
"But," Mummy continued, "I'm not going to charm you in. I'm going to trust you to stay inside, on your own conscience."  
  
Remus looked up at her, almost in disbelief, but then smiled as he understood the trust placed in him. The captivity would still be long and boring, but he felt a little better all the same. "Yes'm. I promise I'll stay inside."  
  
She smiled faintly as well. "And perhaps on Sunday, if you've kept your promise, we'll go the playground together." Remus glanced up in surprise. Sunday was Mummy's one free day, the one she had for chores and such, and she was often very tired as she caught up on the week. In fact, he felt rather guilty now for saying anything. "I guess I had forgotten how difficult it must be for a six-year-old - "  
  
"Nearly seven."  
  
"Nearly seven," Mummy agreed, "to entertain himself all day long. I'm very sorry as well, Remus, lad. I remember when Ritchie was your age and had - " She cut off very sharply.  
  
Remus was not so easily distracted. "Mummy? Where's Ritchie now?"  
  
Mummy gave a small sigh as she knotted the string. "Ritchie is with Father, I've told you that, Remus."  
  
"Yes, but why did Father leave? I thought when we left the village that we'd meet up with them again. I miss Ritchie." Rather tactfully for six-almost-seven, he left his thoughts on Father unspoken.   
  
Mummy sighed in earnest now, pulling out her scissors. There was yet another pause. Remus vaguely recalled that Mummy had never been so reluctant with her words before he had been bitten.   
  
"Remus," she said at last, quite seriously, "you know very well that whenever you or Ritchie asked me a question, I would answer you, right?"  
  
He nodded.  
  
"Sometimes I don't particularly want to answer, and right now is one of them. But I think you're old enough - no, mature enough to have a right to know. But a right to know does not necessarily mean you'll want to. Do you want this answer?"  
  
"Yes." Of course he did; why else had he asked her?  
  
Mummy set the trousers aside before turning to him, looking a little pale. "You… You know that our neighbours in the village, they - asked - us to leave because you had been bitten and were a werewolf, right?"  
  
"Yes." Asked? Remus seemed to remember something a bit more forceful, but let that pass. "Because they were afraid someone else might be bitten, or attacked, if I stayed."  
  
"Yes, that's right, dear… well, your father… he left and took Ritchie for many of the same reasons."  
  
Remus tried to get his answer without asking, but her face did not reveal it. "But… But it's been safe, h-hasn't it? We've been using locks and charms for - for those nights…" Suddenly, he was not quite sure he wanted the answer. He wasn't sure what Mummy would say, but he wasn't sure he wanted to know. But there was no backing out now, at least not on any Donnelly-Nond pride.  
  
"Well - Well, yes, it has, but - you see…" Mummy paused shortly one more time. "Remembering what I've been telling you about the Refrudians? About how sometimes the other wizards don't quite understand them, and so they're scared, and so they began to hate Refrudians?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Well - it's often the same way with werewolves." She waited, but only to see if Remus had something to say. But he hadn't. After all, he came from a long line of Refrudians. "So, Father couldn't face the fact that you had become one, and so - he took Ritchie and left, right before we left Canan Millbury - do you see?"  
  
"Father… hates me… because of… that night?"   
  
"No!" Mummy replied, a tad too quickly. "He does not hate, no one hates. But he's - he's scared, yes, and that leads to him thinking he detests you. And that's what's been happening, same as those other times - Canan Millbury - Rowena's River - that people have treated you cruelly."  
  
"If he's scared of me, why'd he take Ritchie?"  
  
"Because - well, he feels you might harm Ritchie, as well. And I suppose he wants to protect Ritchie from that…" Mummy sounded a little choky. "I'd want Ritchie as back as much as you do, Remus, lad, but there was no way for me to get custody of him."  
  
"M-Mummy?"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"W-What about you?"  
  
*   
  
Remus didn't know how wide his eyes were, or how much they cut Lola to the quick.  
  
"Your father wanted me to come with him and Ritchie…" Lola repressed a shudder, trying not to cry as she thought of that night. Choosing between your two sons was not a decision she would wish on her worst enemy. "I decided against it." Morgana, but was she astonished at how composed her voice sounded.  
  
Remus was staring off, trying to piece this all together. Lola had to wonder just how much of the whole picture he understood. This conversation might be continued over a course of years… she rather hoped that it was at an end now, however. She sincerely hoped he didn't revert to every six-year-old's favourite question - "Why?"  
  
It turned out to be worse. "No, he knocked you out when you tried to ask to talk it over."  
  
Lola's mouth fell open; closing it, she turned to her son. "_What_? How on _earth_ do you - "  
  
Remus shifted in his seat, a little guiltily. "I sort of heard it. You thought I was asleep, but… you, er, were a little loud."  
  
"That's - I'd really rather you not have heard that… so you - " Lola felt as stunned as if she had been slapped. She hadn't the faintest clue over the years that Remus had heard Rick's words before he left that night… he shouldn't have… Lola sighed and shut her eyes, trying to unravel this.  
  
_Please, heaven, he's six. What did I know, what did I have to deal with when I was that age? How much more does he have to know?  
_  
"Remus, lad," she said softly, eyes still closed, "come here." She opened them as she heard him stand up, hesitantly, and coaxed him into her lap._ He's still so small. He's still a baby… _"Look at me."  
  
He did so. Morgana, those eyes. Lola could remember finding their colour… an exact combination of her own grey, and Rick's icy blue. Was it only her imagination, or had they turned a great deal more Donnelly than Nond during the year they had been together, alone, without Rick?   
  
"Listen, dear… it's not fair, and I'd change it in a second if I could - but because of that night, many people are going to look at you differently." Lola stifled yet another shudder and drew him closer. "They'll think worse of you, and judge you on something you can't help. First thing I want you to remember, always - are you listening, Remus? - _it's not your fault_. What happened that night was an accident, no one could have helped it. If anything, it was my own - I don't know what I was thinking, to let you and Ritchie out then - but the result, your condition - it does not make you who you are.  
  
"Second - listen _very_ carefully, Remus Jonathan Nond - the only thing that makes you who you are is your actions, what you do in your own mind. Other people may not now that, but _you_ shall, and even if there's no one who will believe you, if you can look in the mirror without shame, then it's all you need. The most you can do is the right thing. That's why we all have a conscience, and it's always there with you. Your actions are who you are, not what happens every full moon."  
  
She brushed his bangs from his face. "I love you, Remus, lad. And I always will, even if I'm not with you."  
  
"I love you too, Mummy."   
  
Lola smiled. Those words, however often they were spoken, never failed to make her happy._ Oh, Remus, lad. We'll get through this together. We shan't like it and it won't be easy, but we'll get through it…  
_  
"Now grab a slate."  
  
Remus glanced up and made a face. "Why?"  
  
"You know very well why, Remus Jonathan. You haven't worked out any of our maths today."  
  
"_Mummy_…"  
  
"Up. Now." She gently pushed him off of their chair. "On that end table there - three and eleven."  
  
Making a great six-almost-seven deal out of it, he scampered over the slate and pencil. "Fourteen, Mummy, it's fourteen…"  
  
Lola licked the slate pencil as she got ready to scribble the numbers in orderly rows and columns. Remus waited, sitting at her feet quietly, staring yearningly to the sky. The poplars slowly swayed in the wind, matching their drowsy, peaceable mood…  
  
Overhead, a bird flew by them, sailing, wings extended.   
  
  



End file.
